


Home is an Ashtray Without Shoes

by verynotconcise



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie is literally a cat, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Mentions of the Other Losers, No one dies except Pennywise because fuck you, Not really a fix it it's just me casually conveniently changing canon, Used incognito window to google and can confirm that this is not a furry fic sorry to disappoint, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verynotconcise/pseuds/verynotconcise
Summary: Yet, as Eddie sat on the guest bed of his house, pawing at his eyes— pawing, like a fucking cat— he knew that his life had once again taken a merry stroll back down magic lane to the eventual destination of fucked up on all kinds of levels avenue. He found himself unable to say that he wastrulysurprised, because it wasn’t the first nor the second time that he was encountering such bullshit in his life.But he really was surprised to say the least, because in neither of those times did he ever turn into acat, for fucks sake.Eddie turns into a cat and Richie is none the wiser.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	Home is an Ashtray Without Shoes

When Eddie first fought a literal child-eating alien demon monster thing from god-knows-where at the age of 13, he thought that that was going to be the biggest misadventure of his lifetime. Then when he was recalled 27 years later to fight the same fucking son of a bitch that didn’t die the first time, his second thought was that that was _it_. No more funny business. No more fucked up shit with scary doors and dancing clowns, or mullet-wearing schoolyard bullies stabbing him through the fucking cheek _or_ getting _skewered_ while trying to save the love of his life whom he conveniently forgot about until the fucking idiot was about to die at the hands of said clown.

Yet, as Eddie sat on the guest bed of his house, pawing at his eyes— pawing, like a fucking cat— he knew that his life had once again taken a merry stroll back down magic lane to the eventual destination of fucked up on all kinds of levels avenue. He found himself unable to say that he was _truly_ surprised, because it wasn’t the first nor the second time that he was encountering such bullshit in his life.

But he really was surprised to say the least, because in neither of those times did he ever turn into a _cat_ , for fucks sake.

Eddie groaned to himself, jumping in surprise when it came out as a disgruntled _meow_ than the usual upset and grumpy _ugh_ that he was so used to hearing. Fuck. Of all the fucking people in the world, hadn’t he, Eddie Kaspbrak, had enough of this magic shit for one lifetime already? 

Nevertheless, it was what it was. And what it _was_ , was that he was a cat, sitting on a pile of his own pyjamas and underwear thinking to himself: what the _fuck_ happened last night?

Eddie thought long and hard about the events of the previous night and concluded to himself that, first of all, he had been a fucking idiot. And a fucking asshole too, since it was honesty hour and Eddie was trying to be objective about this.

It had been a long day at work, starting with an important budget meeting early in the morning with bosses massacring subordinates with unanswerable questions, and ending the day late because of a system screw up that invalidated half his report overnight. And at midnight, as Eddie dragged his body that felt more like a million tonnes of bricks through the door, all he really wanted was for a quick shower before falling into bed, whether Richie was there or not.

Richie’s work required him to work odd hours, which usually meant that their schedules would be near polar opposites. On most nights, if Richie wasn’t home before Eddie, Eddie would try to stay up at least long enough to give Richie a good night kiss before succumbing to sleep. On other nights, Eddie would apologise to Richie inwardly before pulling the blanket over himself.

Last night was one of those other nights where Eddie just couldn’t wait for Richie, didn’t care if he was home or on the way home. He was so tired, exhausted to the bone with a blooming migraine, and all he wanted was for those blissful few hours of nothingness between consciousness to come.

And thank god that it was a Friday night.

A quick shower later, Eddie was towelling dry his hair as he stepped into their room where he noticed two things. The good news was: Richie _was_ home, apparently. He’d just been in their bedroom, doing work on his laptop. His earpieces were plugged in, which explained why Richie hadn’t heard Eddie come in until now.

As Eddie stepped into the room, Richie glanced up, face brightening up at the sight of his boyfriend coming home at last. Richie reached up to his ears and tore off his earpiece with a delighted grin, ready to crawl over the bed and press a wet smooch to Eddie’s forehead (as he always does) when Eddie arrived home after him.

Which brought Eddie to the second thing he noticed. The bad news was:

“You wore your shoes into the house,” Eddie said flatly, “Again.”

Richie’s smile grew rigid as his eyes trailed after Eddie’s, looking at the pair of shoes lying at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, uh— fuck.” Richie said in sudden realisation. Eddie could hear genuine surprise in his words, which did not betray the apologetic expression creeping onto his face. “Geez, I’m sorry, Eds. I’ll remember it next time.”

That should have been the end of it. It _would_ have been the end of it if not for the tired anger that simmered in Eddie’s veins, if not for the migraine that started to drum in his head.

“That’s what you said the last time.”

Something in Richie’s eyes changed, which was how Eddie knew that Richie had caught onto his bad mood. Richie gave him a soft smile, crawling to the side of the bed where Eddie stood with his arms folded, and rubbed his shoulders affectionately.

“Hey,” Richie said gently, “It’s gonna be okay, alright?”

“It’s not _‘okay’_. I just mopped the house last week.” Eddie said hotly.

“Well.. I’ll mop the house tomorrow, okay? Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not about the fucking _mop_ , Richie. It’s about the goddamn _principle_ behind it. When I said that I didn’t like you wearing your shoes into our house, I meant it, okay? You don’t see me telling you about your smoking habits because you don’t like me doing it— fine. We put the ashtray in the kitchen for that. I do that for you. So why can’t you just remember _not_ to wear shoes into our house? It’s _that_ fucking simple. You see the shoe rack at the door, _take it off_.”

Richie frowned, slightly hurt. His hands stilled on Eddie’s shoulders, although he didn’t pull them away. “This is still my house, Eddie.” Richie said quietly.

Eddie didn’t know what came over him: was it the fact that he was so tired, yet so angry, and all of this without another way to channel such negative energy out? Or was it the fact that he had grown so used to thinking of this house as _their_ house, that being reminded of how it isn’t riled up something in him?

Ultimately, Eddie concluded that it wasn’t important why he snapped. What _was_ important was that he did, and Richie didn’t deserve it.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, throwing his arms open to shrug Richie’s hands off of him, “And _you_ asked me to move in with you, Richie. I had a fucking house back in New York, too. I’m not some fucking beggar you picked off the street, living in your house like a goddamn charity case. _You_ asked me to move in, and I said yes. So there— it isn’t _only your house_ anymore, Richie.”

“Yeah, I asked my _boyfriend_ to move in.” Richie snapped, “Not some fucking nanny to clean my house and put shoes in the shoe rack, okay?”

Eddie rubbed a hand down his mouth, nodding in minute movements. “Right. Right, okay. So, what? I’m just some fucking nanny now? Just because I _care_ about cleanliness?”

“It’s not about _caring_ about cleanliness. It’s about being _picky_ and _difficult—_ ”

“You think I’m difficult?” Eddie interrupted sharply. Richie stopped speaking in mid sentence, opening and closing his mouth in panic.

They had said a few things that _should_ have been hurtful to each other, but, oh, that one struck a nerve in Eddie. And Richie knew it.

All his life, one of Eddie’s greatest fears was being perceived as someone who was _difficult._ Difficult to befriend, difficult to talk to, difficult to like, difficult to _everything._ The Losers were the first group of people who truly accepted Eddie for all his paranoia and nagging and saw him as someone that they liked being around.

For the first time in his life, 27 years ago, Eddie could confidently tell his mother that he had _friends_ to hang out with, and it wasn’t a lie. It was the fact that they did so unconditionally that touched him.

And now, here he was, finding out that the one person that mattered the most to him thought that he was _difficult_ to be around.

And Richie knew all of this. Of course he did. Turns out, Richie just didn’t give a fuck about it.

“Eddie, I—”

“You think I’m difficult?” Eddie repeated again, letting the anger seep through his voice, letting it cover over his face like a blanket, hiding all the shame and _hurt_ beneath it. Richie reached out hurriedly.

“Eddie—”

Anger was always the reaction people used to hide the ones that they truly felt, and Eddie was no different. Eddie took a step back, trying to fix the deepest frown he could manage, but it felt all sorts of wrong to him. Slightly shaky, not deep enough, the way that his breathing came out short and hard, like he was a second away from losing his cool— which, admittedly, he was. He needed to wrap this argument up.

Eddie pointed accusingly at Richie as he bit back several mean words, inhaling deeply before he wagged his finger. “Don’t.” he said coldly, walking out of their room and slamming their door in his wake.

No, not their door, _Richie’s_ door. Because this was _his_ fucking house.

Eddie stormed his way into the guest bedroom, the one that he used to sleep in before they settled their relationship, and slammed that door too. For good measure. He sat down heavily on the bed and put his face in his hands, sighing heavily. He was still angry and upset and hurt by Richie’s words, but the anger was washing out of his body as exhaustion once again became dominant.

As he noticed his tiredness spreading through his body, Eddie noticed something else: it was really hot in the room. He looked up at the aircon and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Besides the fact that Eddie and Richie made their relationship official, there was another reason why he moved out of this room and into Richie’s master bedroom, and that was because of the aircon that had broken down last summer. The unbearable californian summer heat chased him out of this room and into Richie’s— not that he had any complaints _then_ , but he certainly had them _now_.

He got off the bed to open the wide windows on the adjacent wall, letting the small wind-drift brush against his face. It wasn’t too cooling, but it was better than having them closed. At least this way the air in the room wouldn’t be too stale.

Eddie laid back on the bed in thoughtful silence, crossing his hands over his belly as his thoughts washed over him in booming waves. The pressure from his colleagues and stakeholders, the things that Richie said to him, the things that _he_ said to Richie.

In all fairness, it wasn’t the first time that they fought— far from it, actually. In the beginning when Eddie had freshly moved in with Richie, there had been plenty of arguments, ranging from the petty ones about toothpaste and toilet paper to the more serious ones, like Myra’s relentless calls in the first month of announcing his intention to divorce her. But ever since they sorted out the kinks in their journey of living together, of _being_ together, arguments and quarrels had dwindled down until it was few and far between.

Last night had been the first one they have had in months.

Eddie rolled over in his bed and sighed guiltily. He knew that Richie didn’t deserve that, and it was mostly his fault that the argument blew up. He hated sleeping by himself because he was afraid of the dark, because he was afraid of what he would see in the corner of the darkest shadows sometimes. But here he was sleeping by himself tonight and he deserved it.

Wrapping an arm around himself, Eddie curled up, pulling the covers over his torso. Guilt prickled in his chest at the thought that he ruined Richie’s Friday night, that he made Richie sleep by himself as well.

Richie hated sleeping alone since the morning he nearly lost Eddie in the sewers.

It was that thought that nearly persuaded Eddie to swallow his pride and apologise to Richie, to make things right again. It didn’t really matter who was in the right or not anymore, it was just being together again, to hold each other and find comfort in being with the person whom you loved most. It’s a one in seven billion kind of comfort that fills you up with gratitude for life. Eddie pushed himself up on heavy arms, about to throw the covers off his legs when a shrill _meow_ came from outside.

Eddie’s eyes darted across, craning his neck to try glimpsing out of the window. Even if he didn’t see anything but the large tree swaying in the corner of the backyard, Eddie knew that it must have been Oreo, the white stray cat with black spots that loitered around their neighbourhood.

_How nice it must be to be a cat,_ Eddie thought to himself, _To not have any worries, to be free of responsibilities. I’d love to be a cat for a day just to see how it’d be like._

As if a spell had been broken, Eddie settled back into his bed. He still wanted to apologise to Richie, but the pounding behind his eyelids was overwhelming, and the fog clouding over his thoughts grew thicker. It was a struggle to even keep his eyes open. So for tonight, Eddie would let himself rest, but he would be sure to make things right with Richie first thing tomorrow. Of that, he was sure.

Except that when he woke up the next morning, everything looked magnified, looming over him ominously. Eddie had never been a very tall or big man, and there were certainly moments where he wished for a bigger stature. But when he opened his eyes to find that the bed had magically expanded, stretching far and wide where it had been just nice the night before, Eddie found himself suddenly grateful for what he had before. Even pacing around the bed felt like it could have been a morning exercise routine in his current body which probably weighed 10 pounds soaking wet.

The room, so nicely furnished the night before, now towered over him mockingly. From the table near the shelf of books, to the window latch that suddenly seemed too tall to touch, to the door that was a football field away. Everything had gotten big overnight, except that Eddie knew it wasn’t true. The truth was that _he_ had grown small overnight, small and furry, with a tail attached to his butt that was surprisingly easy to control.

Which brought him to where he was now, sitting in the middle of his unmade bed with fur instead of skin and a tail moving around his body in distressed motions.

And finally, to finish the tale with the second thing that he concluded, although with its lack of evidence, could only be stated as nothing more than mere suspicion: did a fucking casual, totally-not-serious wish turn him into a _cat?_ For crying out loud. Eddie had made countless of little “wishes” over the past three decades and the one that the universe decided to grant was _this?!_

For _fucks sake._

An hour or so must have passed this way— with Eddie walking over his clothes in increasing exasperation at the helplessness of his situation— because the sun climbed higher in the sky, and the heat of the room started turning the air stale. But the most obvious indication of this passage of time was the sound of their room door opening and the quiet shuffling outside the door of his room.

Eddie froze, looking at the door with trepidation coiling in his stomach.

A soft knock echoed in the silent room, followed by Richie’s voice, muffled by the thick door. “Eddie?”

His voice was low, soft-spoken in a cautious way, not wanting to upset Eddie any further. It was the voice he used when Eddie got anxious about something, when they used to fight and Richie decided to be the first one to apologise.

Hearing Richie’s quiet voice tugged on a string in his heart, pulling on it unbearably. He wanted to open that door and tell Richie how sorry he was for last night, to pull Richie into his arms for a good minute or two and let the rest of the world fade away when Richie reciprocated his touch.

But he didn’t want to make a sound and alert Richie that the _human_ Eddie was not in the room. Richie wouldn’t know that the cat on the bed was his boyfriend, and he’d wonder where Eddie went, if Eddie had left without telling him beforehand.

That was another painful thought to have. Better to have Richie think that he was still stewing over their argument than to think that Eddie up and left.

Richie must have taken the silence from the room as a message that Eddie was still angry at him for last night, because he sounded dejected when he said again, even quieter than before, “Okay. We can.. we’ll talk about this when you’re ready. Just let me know. I’ll be here. If you wanna— when you wanna talk about it.”

If the weight on his chest was unbearable before, unbearable was no comparison for how crushed he was now. A heaviness that built its own black hole that takes and takes and _takes_. The heaviness underlying every word in Richie’s sentence, the remorse and desperation to make things right again.. Eddie would never get used to hearing it.

Even if he had heard it a few times by now, the most striking memory he had of Richie sounding that way was when he had trouble opening his eyes in the hospital, with his body feeling like it had been pulled apart and stitched together haphazardly. Back when he opened his eyes and found Richie’s red-rimmed ones staring at him, with Richie’s larger hands clasping his, mindful of the tubes inserted into his hands.

Eddie cried out before he even realised what he was doing, and his words came out in a piercing _meow_ that made Richie push the door open, fearful eyes widening even further in shock when he saw Eddie.

Well, not really. He saw a cat, which was Eddie, of course. But to Richie, they were two separate things.

“What the hell..” Richie murmured to himself, walking to the bed in slow, careful strides to let Eddie know that he would be approaching him, giving him the space and the time he needed to avoid him if he wanted to. Eddie thought he looked rather silly, a man treating a stray cat the way he would skirt around a big cat in the African savannah. Something typical of Richie, but something Eddie would never stop finding funny.

When Richie reached the bed, his eyes widened in shock once he noticed Eddie’s pyjamas under Eddie.

“Jesus christ..” Richie murmured to himself, picking up the pyjama pants from the bed. As he did so, Eddie’s briefs fell from between one of the leg openings. Richie’s already wide eyes widened even further— something Eddie watched with fascination. “What the fuck?” Richie said.

Then Richie’s eyes landed on Eddie, again.

Eddie stayed frozen on the bed, staring back at Richie with wide eyes. For a moment that seemed to stretch into infinity, Eddie wondered if Richie had pieced the puzzle together. That the only reason why Eddie’s pyjamas were left in an unfolded pile on the bed was because he had turned into the cat sitting on the bed.

Instead, Richie looked down at Eddie with gentle eyes and a sympathetic smile, scooping him into his arms. Eddie protested, making a high-pitched _meow_. He didn’t like being manhandled as a human, and he still didn’t like it as a cat.

“Hey, little guy,” Richie cooed, “Where’d you come from, huh?” he looked around the room, presumably for two things: any sign of his boyfriend, and where the cat could have come from. As he turned around with Eddie held to his chest, his eyes latched onto the open window. He took a few steps towards the window, peering out of it curiously. “Did you come in through the window? It’s dangerous, lil’ buddy. Why were you climbing on our roof, anyway?”

Eddie blinked. Our?

Richie chuckled, closing the windows with one hand. “By the way, since you’ve been here all morning.. By any chance, did you, uh..”

Eddie nodded, trying to encourage Richie to finish his sentence. Richie huffed as he shut the last window, looking out of it as he tapped a finger on the clear window pane. His eyes darted back to the pile of clothes on the bed, the pair of black briefs that stood out against the white sheets. Once again, Eddie held his breath.

_Is he going to..?_ Eddie wondered, waiting for Richie with his delicate body unusually tensed. Richie looked between the pile of clothes and Eddie for what felt like an hour before he smiled.

“Did you happen to see where my boyfriend went off to?”

_Idiot!!_

“He’s a short, tiny guy. Maybe like 5 foot 5 or something,” Richie laughed shortly, earning a glare from Eddie. “With, like, the biggest, brownest eyes ever. If you’d seen those eyes, man, you’d know that they’re one of a kind. And it’s the most fucking beautiful things to look at, except that most of the time they’re always like, narrowed at me. He’s kinda always glaring at me, but for different reasons..”

Richie trailed off as he gazed outside the window, although Eddie suspected that it isn’t the backyard that Richie was really looking at anymore. Eddie stretched slightly to the side in order to get a better look at Richie, whose eyebrows were drawn together in thought, clearly somewhere else.

As if he could sense Eddie’s worry, Richie blinked, snapping out of his own thoughts. Richie looked down at Eddie, taking in Eddie’s features.

“Kinda like yours, actually..” he murmured to himself, rubbing a hand over Eddie’s head gently, “Your eyes look really similar to his..”

With the comfort of Richie’s warm hand stroking against his head lovingly, Eddie couldn’t help his new natural instinct. He finally understood the satisfaction of having a human to pay attention to you and shower you with affection.

Goddamnit, he had to purr.

Leaning into Richie’s hand, Eddie let out a soft purr. Richie perked up, rubbing the spot behind Eddie’s ear.

“You like that huh, lil’ bud?” Richie said, delighted. Eddie closed his eyes, feeling perfectly content with being coddled in a way he would never let himself be if he were in his human body. Richie smiled at Eddie, eventually pulling his hand away. Eddie opened his eyes, looking quizzically at Richie who shrugged apologetically. “Sorry bud, I would like to keep doing this but I’ve got some _super_ important things to do today. Like, _really_ important.”

Eddie tilted his head, not understanding. He and Richie didn’t have any plans for this weekend, so he wasn’t sure what Richie was referring to.

With Eddie in his arms, Richie walked out of the room, turning around only for a cursory glance around the room, as if Eddie would spontaneously materialise in the room. Well, the human form of Eddie, anyway.

Eddie watched as the little light in Richie’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly, as Richie pulled his lips into a smile that bordered on a grimace when he shut the door softly. He stood in the hallway silently, his head bowed in morose for a long moment before he inhaled deeply. As he breathed out sharply, his head snapped up, looking at Eddie with a cheerful grin, all the sadness on his face washed out in an instant.

“Well, bud,” Richie said, his words staccato, “The day’s young, and like I said— _super_ important things to be done. Yeah?”

_What?_ Eddie wanted to say. “Meow.” he said instead, wincing when he remembered that he was a cat. Yeah, sure, what else was he expecting? For a cat to start speaking full sentences in English? Geez.

Richie laughed lightly, “Yeah, bud. That’s right.”

Eddie didn’t even know what the fuck Richie was replying to. Jesus christ, his boyfriend was a fucking idiot sometimes. Well, it wasn’t like he could blame him anyway. Eddie wouldn’t have replied to a fucking cat in the first place. With how things were, Eddie was just grateful that Richie was even entertaining him at all.

Richie entered their bedroom and picked up the offensive pair of shoes with his other hand before walking down the stairs to the door of their house, slotting the shoes into the only empty space left on the rack. Eddie’s heart sank, realising that this must have been one of the “important tasks” that Richie had in mind. 

Richie sighed, almost inaudibly. It may have been something to do with having heightened senses as a cat to hear the sigh in the first place, but it was definitely his human side that allowed Eddie to recognise it — the little regret clinging onto the end of the sigh.

Halfway bent to the floor, Richie lowered his arms. Without hesitation, Eddie jumped off. Clearly, Richie was hinting for Eddie to get off his arms, and it came naturally to Eddie what he should do even before Richie’s arms were fully drawn apart. That, he supposed, came with being a cat. They always seemed prepared to jump from one place to another, and to land easily on all four legs as they did.

But what Eddie was _not_ prepared for was Richie to open the front door and look back at him expectantly.

“Go on, lil’ bud.” Richie cooed, “Out you go.”

Eddie stared wide-eyed, completely dumbfounded. Was he being chased out of the house by Richie?

Granted that there was no way for Richie to know that the cat he was speaking to was actually his boyfriend, but still. His tail curled up behind his body as he shrunk into himself, his shock fading into a mix of hurt and betrayal.

At Eddie’s reluctance to move, Richie nodded his head towards the door, shuffling his feet. “Come on, lil’ bud. You really can’t be in here, man.”

Eddie tried to make a noise of protest, something furious and powerful, but it came out high pitched and pitiful instead. Eddie guessed that worked, though, because Richie put his hands on his hips briefly before he threw his head back, looking at the ceiling for a long moment, as if it was killing him to ask Eddie to leave as well. Maybe it was— Richie had always been soft hearted, sometimes at his own expanse. When he looked back at Eddie’s unflinching stare, Richie squatted down, spreading his legs to rest his elbows on his thighs.

They were close— really close. With their proximity, Eddie could see the little five o’clock shadow along Richie’s jaw, the single eyelash on his cheek that was probably dislodged when Richie washed his face this morning. Eddie made a quieter sound, raising one of his legs to try removing the eyelash, but Richie held onto his leg in his much bigger, much warmer hand. He offered Eddie a faint smile as he said, still with that fake cheer in his voice, “Look, man. As much as I would like to let you stay here, I really, _really_ can’t.”

Richie pointed towards the shoe rack and Eddie followed his gaze. “I got into _a lot_ of trouble because of that. Pissed my boyfriend off, big time. And I don’t think that he’d appreciate coming back home—”

Richie stopped in mid-sentence with his face pinched, as if he had unexpectedly swallowed something sour. Eddie’s tail stopped moving.

“I don’t think he’d appreciate coming back home,” Richie repeated again, softer, “And finding out that I let you stay. He’s a little bit particular about cleanliness, and I don’t want to upset him again.”

Richie’s gaze lowered as he rubbed his thumb against the pads of Eddie’s paw gently, in the way that he always rubbed his thumb along Eddie’s knuckles when Eddie tittered between sleep and shallow consciousness. It was something so natural to Eddie that he wished he had fingers to wrap around Richie’s thicker fingers, to lock their hands together as he always did.

“Come on, bud,” Richie mumbled again, without conviction. He smiled thinly at Eddie. “Do me this favour, will ya? Don’t want me to end up as a bachelor for the rest of my life, right?”

Eddie stilled.

Sure, they had talked about marriage before. Talked about what kind of wedding they would like to have, about their honeymoon destinations. But all of these were casual conversations, little “what ifs” in an otherwise unremarkable day. They’d never sat down and properly discussed marriage before, of what being married to each other would mean for the both of them.

It was the first time that Eddie realised that maybe it was something Richie thought about often— more often than he did, anyway. He couldn’t believe that he never thought about this before. He couldn’t believe that he had to find this out because Richie was more loose-lipped with a cat than with his _human boyfriend_.

Eddie’s eyes searched Richie’s. It was plain, laid out for anyone to see, that Richie was desperately pleading for Eddie to understand him and help him by walking out of the door. Eddie supposed it was ultimately his fault, because Richie was right: Eddie would not be happy if he came back and found a stray cat walking all over their furniture.

Eddie’s paw slipped out of Richie’s grip as he picked himself up, turning to walk out of the door. He didn’t want to make Richie worried about upsetting him further, but there was no way that Eddie could tell Richie that now, was there?

Heaviness settled in his stomach as he wondered where he would go from here. Where _could_ he go? There was Bill, but Bill was at least an hour’s drive away from their house, which would mean that it was more than an hour’s walk.

And with this small body he was now occupying? Eddie gave up on the thought of finding Bill.

Plus, there was another worry of how long he would stay as a cat. Was it going to be a few hours, or maybe for a few days?

Would he remain as a cat forever?

Eddie looked back longingly, surprised to find Richie’s sad gaze trailing after him as he approached the door. Richie wasn’t a cat person. He had always been more of a dog person, and even that was sometimes questionable after their recent encounter with a certain small pomeranian dog which turned into a fucking monster. But now Richie was watching him leave with regret and deep sadness etched onto the frown on his face, as if for some reason unknown even to him, he couldn’t bear to watch this stray cat walk out of the door.

And as he took another step forward and away from Richie, Richie’s face broke.

“Wait!” Richie called out, scrambling to his feet to scoop Eddie up. Eddie yelped, flailing his legs everywhere. His heart skipped a beat with how suddenly he was lifted up more than five times his current height with no warning at all. It was like taking the ride with the sudden drop, except that he didn’t see the drop coming and neither did he sign up for the ride, anyway.

Additionally, Richie’s hands were currently reminding him of how ticklish he was, and it was a fucking struggle not to extend his claws and scratch Richie in self-defense.

“Oh my god, Eddie’s gonna be so fucking pissed at me.”

_Yeah,_ Eddie thought, _I am, asshole. Just not for the reason you think._

Richie kicked the door closed, walking back into the house with Eddie clinging onto his arm awkwardly.

“I guess you can stay here until Eds gets home,” Richie says, “He’s gonna be so fucking pissed at me, so you’ll have to do that thing you just did with your eyes, okay? Like, that big kitty eyes thing. I think you could even convince Eds to let you stay when he gets back.”

Richie collapsed onto the sofa where he released Eddie. Eddie hopped off Richie and settled onto the space next to him, staring at Richie. Richie slouched bonelessly against the sofa, gradually sliding down the cushion with his shirt riding up the curve of his tummy. Still, he looked up at the ceiling in thought, blinking every few seconds passively.

Richie breathed out before stretching himself, grunting in satisfaction when a few consecutive pops travelled down his spine. He turned to Eddie with a playful grin.

“Well, don’t complain if I don’t entertain you, pal. Like I said, I’ve got some super important shit to do today, and sadly none of it includes setting up a cat litter box so don’t go around shitting and pissing all over the floor, alright?”

Eddie nodded, rolling his eyes. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he could still roll his eyes. He had never seen a cat do that before.

Neither had Richie, apparently. Richie narrowed his eyes at Eddie. “Punk ass cat,” he said grudgingly, tapping Eddie’s face with a finger.

They held eye contact for another few seconds before Richie sighed, returning to his original position: slouched against the sofa with his head tilted upwards. Eddie rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling as well. The sounds of the birds flying past their neighbourhood and of vehicles driving by filled the silence before Richie said.

“Hey, lil’ bud.”

Eddie made a noise of acknowledgement, cat style.

“Suppose that you were a human, right?” Richie said casually. This caused Eddie to freeze, to look at Richie with his heart in his throat (or whatever the cat equivalent of that was) and to wonder: holy fuck, did Richie figure it out?

But then Richie blew out a breath and said, “And also suppose that— all of this is just hypothetical, of course— you needed to keep your cleaning supplies somewhere. Right? Where would you keep them?”

Endearing.

That was a word that Eddie once associated with Richie often— and something he forgot. Endearing.

When Eddie woke up in the hospital with half of his body wrapped in multiple layers of bandages and a neck brace and didn’t allow him to turn his head freely, he always thought it was endearing how Richie would crane his neck just to worm his way into Eddie’s field of vision. When Eddie packed his bags in New York and dragged them into Richie’s car waiting in the basement car park, he thought it was endearing how visibly flustered Richie grew when they settled into the seats with their hands held tightly together, a promise of a new chapter.

Now, perched on the sofa watching Richie mop the floor methodically as he crooned the tune of a recent song on the radio, Eddie remembered the word. Endearing.

Although Richie spent a great deal of time marvelling over the supposed powers of a stray cat to locate Eddie’s enigmatic cleaning supplies (“What the fuck, lil’ bud? How the fuck do you even— jesus, buddy, you gotta use that power you have to help me find my lost socks.”), things progressed pretty smoothly from there. If there was some merit to his changing into a cat, it was being able to see the other sides of Richie he never saw before, like the little furrow in his brow as he measured the detergent he needed to pour into the red pail. Things that Eddie never saw because he was so convinced that he knew everything about Richie.

Being a cat had its surprises, and this was one of them. Endearing.

Richie glanced back at Eddie as the mop hit the side of the wall. He straightened his back and whistled lowly, wiping off the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand.

“Nearly done, thank fuck for that.” Richie stretched his back, “Don’t know how Eddie does this every weekend. My back feels like it’s gonna shatter if I bend down any longer.”

_You’re not supposed to bend over like that, idiot._

“It’s probably something to do with his yoga. You know, being flexible and shit.” Richie paused in thought, smirking to himself, “Yeah, _definitely_ flexible and shit.”

_Motherfucker._

Richie smiled to himself, and as Eddie looked at him, he saw the little light in his eyes slip away as he came back into the present, looking at the hand still gripping onto the mop.

Richie’s smile became strained.

He looked briefly at Eddie as he shook his head. “Betcha wondering what a man like me is doing, aren’t ya? Mopping the whole fucking place in the early morning.”

Well, it’s not exactly early anymore, and neither did it look like morning either, but Eddie didn’t say anything to correct Richie.

Richie flashed Eddie a small, tired smile that showed his age— something that Richie doesn’t tend to do. It was in his whole demeanour: making loud, provocative jokes to conceal his own insecurities; laughing loudly, making big body gestures to hide his desire for physical contact; meandering away from difficult conversations because he wasn’t ready for them.

Richie never liked to show his age, but here he was with a smile so raw that Eddie caught a glimpse of the Richie buried deep under all the impressions and layers. 

Richie let the handle of the mop rest against the wall as he sank on the steps of the stairs slowly, taking off his glasses with an unsteady hand. Eddie climbed off the sofa and walked over to Richie’s side, sitting down with a sympathetic expression. He watched as his boyfriend rubbed across his eyes harshly, inhaling deeply, and Eddie felt a hard pang in his little chest.

Not for the first time in the day, Eddie wished that he could hold Richie’s face in his hand.

Instead, Eddie stood on his hind legs, gripping onto Richie’s arm. Richie looked down at Eddie with big eyes that dissolved into half-moons.

“Guess you’re wondering why I’m cleaning like my world depends on it, huh?” Richie said quietly, holding onto his glasses with one hand and patting Eddie’s head with the other. “Well, it kinda is— my world depending on it, I mean.”

Eddie moved closer, climbing onto Richie’s lap in silent support. Richie smiled faintly.

“I told you earlier that I fucked up, right? I really did, lil’ buddy, I really did. I fucked up so badly that my boyfriend left the house without telling me anything.” Richie hesitated, “He’s never done that before.” he said in a low voice.

Eddie made a small noise of hurt.

“I promised to clean the house last night. That’s why I’m—” Richie gestured to the pail and the mop next to him. Eddie’s gaze lingered on the pail, with soap suds floating on its translucent surface. “I didn’t mean to make him angry, bud. I just— I forget about it, sometimes. The thing about living alone for half of your life is that you don’t have anyone else with you and you get to do whatever the fuck you want to, you know? Have a weekend party? Why not? Don’t wanna wash the dishes for a week? Who’s stopping you? But..”

Richie pursed his lips, rubbing his nose as he pondered on his words.

“I know, I know.. It’s been more than one whole ass year since he moved in. I _know_ that I should’ve gotten used to it, yada-yada. But.. sometimes I just— forget, okay? I forget because it’s still more than half my life spent alone. But that wasn’t even the worst part of it—”

Richie averted his gaze, staring at the pail a few feet away. His stare became distant, clouded over by memories of the last night that choked him with their long, sinewy fingers, seen only by Richie and no one else.

“I told him that this wasn’t his house, and worse still, I told him that he was difficult.” Richie explained in a tight voice. He struggled to keep his voice even as he continued, “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, buddy. I shouldn’t have said it in the first place, but.. I— yeah, I did. And I fucked up so badly, bud. But that wasn’t what I wanted to say at all.”

Eddie watched quietly as Richie’s lips pressed itself into a straight line that seemed to vanish for a long moment, as the line between his brows deepened, as his nose scrunched up in distaste.

“Eds.. he, uh.” Richie waved his hands around, fumbling for words, “He never said it, like, out loud. I mean, he usually doesn’t. Don’t know why, but it is what it is and I’m not complaining, yeah? But, Eds, he.. I know he doesn’t like this place much.”

Eddie fell back slightly, staring up at Richie in confusion.

It’s true— all of it. That Eddie didn’t like this house, that he never made any mention of it to Richie. But it was only because he felt that it wasn’t worth mentioning.

His problem with this house wasn’t that he hated it in particular, it just didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like Richie, much less like _them_.

Sure, they could’ve filled the empty spaces of the house with more furniture. A pool table was the common suggestion from the other Losers amongst others like a second TV room, or having separate work desks. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that the place didn’t feel much like any of them, and it was something that struck Eddie the moment that he stepped foot inside.

It was much too big, too empty. It felt like the house that an adolescent kept to impress his guests: big pool in the back with a view of the ocean, a bar in the living room just behind the grand piano that had hardly been played. It was nice in the way a showroom would be nice. A fantasy of what living in such an expansive place would be, impersonal and filled with the ghosts of what could be.

But actually living in a space that big, with Richie out of the house on most nights, just felt lonely. Not that Eddie ever brought any of this up with Richie because it wasn’t an issue that needed addressing, but he never knew that Richie noticed his discomfort.

As if Richie could sense Eddie’s unspoken question, he chuckled hollowly. “Yeah, bud, I know. It’s a nice place, why the fuck else would I have bought it, right? But it really doesn’t matter why he doesn’t like this place. He doesn’t like it. And I’ve been thinking.. I’ve been thinking of, uh.” Richie adjusted his glasses, a nervous tick. “I’ve been thinking of suggesting to him to.. you know, move into another place. Somewhere that will feel more like home to us, you know?”

Eddie felt his heart skip a beat as his paw let go of Richie’s arm. He sat back in Richie’s lap quietly, overwhelmed.

Moving into Richie’s place had been a step Eddie had never dreamed they could take together, but what Richie had in mind was something Eddie never let himself imagine ever happening. It felt different than moving into Richie’s place because it would be something that they chose together, a home that they would make for themselves.

And somehow, although Eddie never said any of this, Richie knew. Richie knew Eddie better than Eddie ever expected or thought him to. Ironically, despite always being the quieter one, Richie knew Eddie better than Eddie knew Richie.

Shame coiled in Eddie’s gut as he looked away, his tail lowering in realisation of his sudden guilt.

It took another pause for Richie to speak again. “And I never meant that he was being difficult.. I mean, sure. We took a few weeks to adjust to each other. But.. he’s my Eddie, you know? Difficult doesn’t mean anything when you get to wake up to the best person you’ve ever known in your life.”

That wasn’t anything that Eddie had ever imagined Richie thought about.

Richie was a lot like him. When faced with trouble, their initial reaction was flight. They were the Losers who wanted out, who packed their bags and were ready to go.

Who knew that for him, Richie was willing to weather the storm?

He of all people should’ve known, but he didn’t. Somehow, that added to the weight on his chest. It was crushing, devastating. Eddie made a small sound of pain as he curled into himself, trying to make himself shrink, take up less space. He would disappear if he could, but right now, his presence as a cat offered some comfort to Richie. And even if that wasn’t a lot, Eddie would sit through the urge and brush away thoughts of running off just to be with Richie right now.

They sat in a comfortable, albeit sullen, silence for a few minutes before Richie’s face smoothened out. He looked fondly at Eddie, stroking his delicate head.

“You know something bud?”

“Meow.”

“Your eyes, it really reminds me of Ed’s. Makes me feel like I’ve confessed some stuff to him, and I feel— is it crazy to feel slightly better? Talking about all this with a cat?”

“Meow.”

“Yeah, I know.” Richie’s fingers lingered on the space behind Eddie’s ear, “Thanks, bud.”

The heaviness in Eddie’s chest didn’t go away, because he could still see the hurt reflected in Richie’s. Richie flashed him another smile as he slid on his glasses, heaving a sigh as he started to get up again. Eddie hopped off expertly.

“I should finish this before he gets back. Gotta win my man back, don’t I lil’ bud?”

_You don’t have to win back someone who was never going anywhere, Richie._

“Meow.”

Eddie was slightly worried, as he usually was with anything concerning Richie.

“Okay, look— I can’t make a good risotto and I don’t know how to make stir fried noodles like Eds can, but my grilled cheese is good fucking shit. It’s just one of those things that you don’t learn to do when you’ve been single your entire life, right?”

Eddie nodded his uncertain concurrence, something matted over with some questions he’d really rather not know the answers to. Not that he could ask about them now, anyway.

Richie dropped a large dollop of butter into the hot pan which made an explosive sizzling sound as it started melting and splattering like mini fireworks. Eddie watched all of this from the countertop next to the stove, something that he would never allow if he were a human. Stray cats in the kitchen? Hard nope. Stray cats near _food?_ Nope, nope nope nope.

But here he was, anyway, just a feet away from the spluttering butter in the pan, because he was a hypocrite.

“And, besides, everyone loves grilled cheese. Unless you’re lactose intolerant, obviously. But even _then,_ lil’ bud, those sons of bitches are willing to rip their assholes apart and let their flying shit splatter across the toilet bowl like it belongs in some abstract art gallery exhibition. And all for a moment of dairy.”

Eddie groaned, something which came out disgruntled enough for a human to understand, as he wiped a paw over his face in disgust. Richie, laying a piece of bread over the melted butter, chanced a glance at Eddie.

“What? Don’t believe me? Yeah, well, you’re a fucking cat. What do you know?” Eddie narrowed his eyes threateningly at Richie with his hand on his face, not unlike what he usually did as a human.

For a split second, Richie’s smile faltered as an image of Eddie imposed upon the cat. As soon as it came, it was gone. In the afterimage of Eddie’s ironically adoring glare was a cat with eyes strikingly similar to Eddie’s.

Richie looked back at bread toasting on the pan, flipping it over with a spatula placidly.

“You know,” Richie said, pretending to be occupied with his cooking, “You really do remind me of Eds. Just.. it’s your eyes, man. Those big bug-like eyes of yours.”

_Bug-like?!_ Eddie thought, _Of all the ways to describe my eyes, he chooses to go with_ bug-like _?!_

“Big, brown, kinda like bulging out of their sockets-ish.” Richie laughed lightly, making a cupping gesture over his own eyes as he sprinkled cheese over the browning bread, “That’s like the only thing about him that’s big. Everything else about him is so tiny.”

Cheese on the bread was melting as Richie pondered over his words.

“Well, not _everything_ , but you know what I mean.” Richie’s eyes darted to Eddie, “Or not, because you’re a cat.”

_Fucking idiot._

“Ah, what the hell. You’ll see it for yourself when Eds gets back.” Richie flashed Eddie a good-natured smile as he covered the melted cheese with another slice of nicely browned bread, flipping it for a few seconds in silence. Eddie watched his movements, so casual and easy in the way that most things about Richie were, and felt his heart fill with love for his boyfriend all over again.

“You know,” Richie began, breaking the silence with a thoughtful look, “Eds— he doesn’t like it very much when I bring it up. How small he is. But it’s not something I say maliciously, or like, something I say to piss him off. Yeah, I mean, there are times that I say it to tease him. He’s cute when his face gets all red and shit. But..”

Richie turned the heat off and scooped the sandwich onto a plate next to Eddie. Richie took a glimpse at Eddie before he put the pan back on the stove.

“But, I like it. I really like how he fits perfectly in my arms.” Richie said nonchalantly, although his voice was laden with a seriousness Eddie only heard once before: when Richie asked Eddie to move in with him.

Richie’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he took the empty space next to Eddie, leaning back against the countertop with folded arms, staring into the cabinets opposite them.

“You know, the first time I ever realised this— how nicely he fit in my arms— was when I was carrying him out of the sewers. Him, bleeding all over me after being skewered by that motherfucking clown, and his little hand gripping onto my shirt. He was so fucking pale, and the red all over him..”

Eddie remembered.

He remembered flashes of white, of blurry faces in his peripheral, vague lines and curves that should be familiar to him, that _were_ familiar to him even if he couldn’t make sense of it then. He remembered his neck lolling limply around, the pain searing through his body like an erratic lightning strike that refused to calm. He remembered the noise hammering his head, a clap of thunder that rolled on and on without losing its strength.

He remembered droplets. Little pitter-patters of droplets against his dirty face, even though everything else was blindingly bright. Too bright for rain, too bright to keep his eyes open.

Drip, drop.

He remembered holding onto something, he remembered thinking that this was it, this was how his life would end. Four decades of trying to be something he was not, four decades of chasing after the dreams that other people had imposed onto him. Of cars and status, of a nice house in central Manhattan he could boast about, of a wife that loved him too much. 

But he was going to die an unhappy man, with so many of his own wishes and desires left on the chalkboard of his bucket list to rot forever. If there was one consolation to him in those fleeting, fading moments, it was that he would get to die in the arms of the only person he’s ever been in love with. Somehow, that made it less lonely.

He choked on his words in the sewers, blood clotting up in his throat, but at least he could have this. To die in the arms of the one he loved most, even if it took 27 years for him to remember what he had had in the first place, lost and found.

And then he survived.

Richie opened the window in front of the sink before he reached into his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it with shaky hands. It was a compromise between the both of them, when Eddie realised that he didn’t want to force Richie to give up his smoking habit even if he preferred for Richie to drop it. Richie could smoke, sure, but he had to keep the window open. Always.

Seeing Richie do this even when he wasn’t home made Eddie smile.

Richie took a long drag as his gaze bounced all over the kitchen, as the smell of freshly grilled bread and melted cheese intertwined itself with secondhand smoke. Eddie stared at Richie quietly.

“The red— it was the only thing about him that had colour.” Richie said with painstaking effort to keep his voice level, “And I— I thought it was gonna be the first and last time I ever got to hold him, you know? Whenever I hugged people, I always..” Richie gestured to the back of his head with the hand holding the cigarette, creating wavy lines of white dancing in the air.

“Always wondering, always having that little itty gut feeling that something was off. Like I spent my entire life waiting to hold that one person. And when it finally felt right? When I finally found the person I spent my entire life searching for?” Richie chuckled mirthlessly with a grim smile, “That person was dying in my arms, and his blood was all over me. The only thing about him that had colour.”

Richie brought the cigarette back between his lips with trembling hands.

“It’s good.” Richie nodded to himself, smoke escaping his lips in a puff of white, “Being able to erase those god awful memories. Good to hold him again, when he isn’t dying. Good to see him when it’s only his face flushed from anger, or whatever, and not because he’s covered in his own blood. Sometimes I still see it, you know? Before I sleep, when I sleep.. Just see his pale face when I close my eyes, and I feel the weight of his hand holding onto my shirt. But.. it’s—” Richie paused to inhale, “It’s good. When I see him next to me in our bed, breathing and alive. It helps me to sleep.”

Eddie felt something punch through his gut, felt his lungs fill with water. He was drowning in the guilt, the shame, the devastation. All the words he wanted to say disappeared with every passing moment, because what was there to say?

“I don’t think I’ve ever told him how happy I am that he’s alive. I couldn’t— I kept feeling that if I said it, it makes it real. That he almost died once, and it was my fault. He would have died saving me, and I would be the reason he was dead. ”

Eddie’s hand reached up to grip onto Richie’s shoulder. Richie looked over his shoulder with his cigarette burning away between his fingers, blinking at Eddie through his coke bottle glasses. Eddie held Richie’s gaze in his own unflinching one, pleading for Richie to search his eyes and to understand everything that he couldn’t put into words.

_It’s not your fault. I never knew, but now I do. And Richie? I’m really happy that you’re alive, too._

The fear in Richie’s eyes dissolved into something softer. He reached over the sink for the ashtray and stubbed out his cigarette in gentle strokes, like the ashtray was a painting being restored.

“Yeah. I know, bud. I know.” Richie said quietly.

Eddie doubted that Richie truly understood.

“I just wish that Eddie knew this.”

Eddie crawled over, slowly draping himself over Richie’s shoulder pliantly, letting his head rest against the crook of Richie’s neck. Richie startles, but compared to the usual full-body jumps Eddie was used to seeing, it was a stoic sharp turn of his head, wide-eyed with a quiet inhale. He brought his hand up to cup Eddie’s face, letting Eddie nuzzle into his warm palm.

“Meow.” _He does._

“Yeah, buddy,” Richie said, “Me too.”

They fell into a comfortable lull for a long moment before Richie shifted, picking up his sandwich and plucking a small piece of bread off for Eddie. As Eddie nibbled on it, Richie asked. “So, do cats actually drink milk? Or like, do you prefer water? I mean, if you were human I’d offer you something stronger— we both look like we could use it, you know what I mean? But you’re a cat. So, milk or water?”

Behind them, a thin trail of white smoke drifted through the opened window in the kitchen.

Richie cooked another grilled cheese later on, after they were done with their lunch.

“It’s for Eds,” Richie said, piling the cheese on the bread, “For when he comes back later— if he’s hungry. He can heat it up.”

Richie put it on a plate and left it on the counter, covered meticulously with a piece of cling wrap. He walked out of the kitchen, stretching as he did until he sat on the sofa, which was more of a practiced fall backwards. Eddie jumped up onto the shaded part of the cushion, studying the way that the light from the window fell onto Richie’s face like a spotlight, following the glint of light skating around the rim of his glasses. Richie yawned loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth, before he threw his feet up on the sofa, propping a pillow behind his head lazily.

“I’m a little tired, bud,” Richie mumbled, eyelids falling shut, “Wake me up if Eds walks through that door, alright?”

And then, like a switch had been flicked, Richie was asleep, snoring softly against his shoulder. Eddie let his hand thread through Richie’s fine brown hair, trying his best to push it away from his face. Their roles were usually reversed. Eddie would be the tired one resting his eyes in Richie’s lap while Richie leaned back with his laptop by his side, scrolling through his emails and scripts on a quiet Saturday afternoon.

And when Eddie woke up on those lovely afternoons with the heat of the sun licking at his feet, it was to the ghost touches of Richie’s fingertips across his forehead. He’d look up, sometimes with sleep still clinging to the edges of his eyes where little webs of lines were starting to sprout, and he’d be greeted with Richie’s gummy smile, something brighter than the glare of the sun intruding through the window.

Eddie climbed onto Richie’s stomach slowly, carefully not to wake his boyfriend, and curled up into a ball. The sun was just overhead, throwing the room into a cool shade, and the occasional sound of tyres against asphalt were enough to lure Eddie into letting his eyelids droop more, and then some more. Before he knew it, sleep enveloped him like a welcoming blanket.

Eddie felt it before he saw it, or heard it. Call it a cat’s intuition, but it was more likely Eddie’s intuition.

Richie was tense.

Under him, Richie was taut as a violin string, like the calm of a sea with a strong undercurrent. Eddie opened one eye, letting his tail rise leisurely. Richie was staring past him with one hand on the small of his back, with a look that gave away nothing. His usually clear blue eyes looked duller, like the colour had been washed out with years of exposure to the elements.

He was deep in his thoughts, that much was obvious.

When Eddie began moving under Richie’s palm, Richie’s gaze came back into the present like a stretched rubber band snapping back into itself, his eyes focusing on a singular point: Eddie.

Richie shifted, supporting his weight on one elbow. “Hey, lil’ bud. Had a good nap?”

“Meow.” _Yes._

“Yeah. It was a pretty nice weather, wasn’t it? Slightly cloudy now, though. Wonder if it’s gonna rain later.”

Richie was babbling, detached and withdrawn, which is how Eddie knows that there was definitely something on his mind. Eddie looked out of the window and saw that the sky had been divided into two, with one half of it carrying heavy dark clouds that threatened to pour at any moment, and the other lighter half being chased away with the ominous arrival of the former.

Well, it’s not _slightly_ cloudy. This shit was going to pour and boom all over the place.

Eddie must have been staring at the sky longer than he intended to, because Richie mistook it as a sign of fear. His thumb started drawing circles into the soft fur of Eddie’s brown-spotted body, flashing him a comforting smile that didn’t entirely reach his eyes.

“What? Scared of a little thunderstorm?”

_It’s not gonna be little, you idiot._

“It’s okay, you’re gonna stay here until the storm passes, at least. Even if Eddie gets upset at me.. again. I’m not gonna chase you out.” Richie bit on the inside of his cheeks, averting his gaze towards the window as his voice dropped. “Where are you, Eds?”

_I’m here Richie, I’m here, I’m—_

“Meow.”

Richie’s eyes flickered to Eddie’s, and for a heartbeat Eddie swore that he saw a spark of recognition in Richie’s eyes. Not recognition for lil’ bud, the cat, but Eddie. Yet, it wasn’t enough to ignite something bigger, something greater in Richie. Richie’s expression softened imperceptibly, a mixture of disappointment and fondness for the little cat lying on his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah. I know _you’re_ here, bud. Come on, man.” Richie said teasingly, moving to get off the sofa.

Even if he should have expected Richie to get it right, it still felt somewhat disappointing.

_Not him, Rich. Me. Eddie._

Eddie hopped off, ambling next to Richie comfortably. He followed him to the toilet, where Richie started stripping. Off came his shirt, the ratty one with several holes that Eddie has always had one mind to throw away when Richie’s out at work. Next came the shorts, unceremoniously pulled down in one swift motion. Just before Richie could pull down his boxers, he caught Eddie’s stare in the mirror.

“What?” Richie said, turning around with his hands on his hips. Towering over Eddie in the glory of the 6 foot height he always gloated about, coupled with his new body that was definitely less than 1 foot tall on 4 legs, made Richie look ridiculous. He loomed over like a skyscraper, casting a shadow over Eddie in the doorway, wearing a stupidly exaggerated frown that dragged half his half down with it. “Enjoying the show, lil’ bud?”

“Meow.” _What fucking show, asshole?_

“Yeah, well, why do I need to close the door, huh? Punk ass cat.” Richie said jokingly, answering a question that Eddie never asked. He looked himself over in the mirror, casting a critical glance as his eyes travelled down his body. “Wow, maybe Eddie _had_ a point about laying off the beer. Shit’s rough when you hit your big 4.” he said in an offhanded way, like a person describing the weather. He grabbed onto his stomach and gave it a forceful squeeze, letting the flesh between his fingers.

And, yeah, it was true that Eddie had advised Richie to drink slightly less. But it wasn’t Richie’s appearances that he had in mind when he said it. It was his concern about Richie’s budding alcohol problem, something that could still be controlled at this stage. Eddie had seen way too many of his colleagues wave it off as something they could control only to end up in AA in the following years, and he didn’t want Richie to go down the same path that they did. He didn’t want Richie to have a problem that didn’t need to be one.

If only he had been clearer about why he was worried about Richie’s drinking habits, Eddie lamented inwardly.

Richie blew out a breath, letting go of his body with a quirk of his eyebrows. He pushed back his glasses as he grinned at Eddie, “What? Do you agree with Eds, too?”

Eddie shook his head, “Meow,” he cried sharply, hoping that his discontentment with Richie’s thoughts came through in that single syllable.

Richie raised a sceptical brow, “What? You don’t think that these rolls are the most glorious things you’ve ever seen?”

Richie, Eddie thought, these rolls _are_ one of the most glorious things I’ve ever seen. Not because they’re a bunch of fat squeezed between your fingers, but because they’re part of you, and you’re the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Besides fucking Oatly milk. And Pennywise disintegrating, but he wasn’t even coherent enough to understand what was going on then, so it didn’t fucking count.

Eddie walked up to Richie and struggled to get on his hind legs, softly patting the gentle curve of Richie’s tummy, the one he loved to rest his head on in the middle of a slow afternoon. Richie looked down with his jaw hanging, flabbergasted by the show of affection from what he thought was a stray cat.

His laugh was strangled with bewilderment as he held onto Eddie’s hands, stumbling a step backward. “Alright, lil’ bud. Alright. I love it too, man.”

Eddie craned his head upward, “Meow.”

“Yeah, bud. I know.” Richie said.

Eddie didn’t think that Richie did.

Slowly, Richie lifted Eddie’s paws off of his body. He tapped on Eddie’s cheek with two fingers lightly, offering a smile that went beyond simple understanding but didn’t quite reach the junction where Eddie was waiting. “I know, buddy. I know,” he said with his voice just shy of a whisper. Eddie fell back onto all fours, watching Richie like a kid mesmerised by fireworks in the sky, “But if you don’t let go of me, I’m never gonna bathe, and you won’t be able to smell just how nice the new soap Bev bought for me is, fresh out of the shower.”

Ah, yes. The soap that Richie was ecstatic to receive. For a man who didn’t even know what brand of shampoo he was using, Eddie was surprised by how excited Richie was to receive soap from Bev as a gift, and even more surprised by how _genuine_ his reaction was.

But, if there’s one thing that Eddie had always loved about Richie, it was the way that he was always sincerely happy to receive anything from his friends, the tangibles and intangibles. From a simple text from Mike with a picture from Florida, to the simple meals with Bill in a deli. Richie’s happiness was infectious within a mile radius, and Eddie had never been happier since he last remembered Richie leaving Derry in his family’s trusty old Ford, sticking his head out of the window with glistening eyes and a locked jaw.

Eddie sat back down on the rug by the sink, watching Richie pull his boxers down. It was nothing that Eddie hadn’t already seen, but Eddie would never look at Richie without appreciating the view.

Richie whistled as he tested the water in the shower, cranking the knob further to the left until he was satisfied. He threw Eddie a glance, “Wanna get in?”

Eddie fixed him a long, level look. He needed to talk to his boyfriend about bathing with stray cats when he got his human body back, apparently. Richie snorted.

“Alright, yeah, yeah. Right. You cats have your own cleaning thing, right? Licking yourself or something. No idea how that works but I’m not judging.” he raised his hands in surrender, stepping into the spray of hot water fogging up the clear glass.

Heat from Richie’s shower was warming up the room nicely. Eddie curled into himself and thought about Richie’s words, about how cats bathe themselves. He’d always been curious about it, and now that he was handed the opportunity to experience it for himself, why not?

He gave his thigh an experimental lick, surprised to find how pleasant the feeling of his wet tongue brushing against soft fur felt like. It was similar to combing out all the tangles in your hair, in the repeated motions that were oddly soothing. He didn’t even know if what he was doing was correct, but Eddie had also learnt that it was sometimes best to follow intuition.

Listening to Richie hum the tune of an old love song with the constant rush of water in the background, it was easy to forget the oddity of his situation. Richie has that ability, to make him forget his troubles with the easy aura he exudes.

It was only after Richie stepped out of the shower, squeezing his hair dry with a towel that he saw Eddie’s work pants crumpled and hanging over the laundry basket at the corner, something uncharacteristic for Eddie.

Richie frowned, picking his pants up. “Maybe I should get some laundry done tonight.” he mused to himself, trying to hold his pants right-side up when something fell out of the pockets.

It was Eddie’s phone.

Richie froze, looking at the black rectangle at his feet with his face carefully wiped of any expression. With measured and forced calmness, Richie picked up the phone. He pressed the home button, watching it boot to life with a pop-up low battery warning on the screen.

For a few seconds that bled into an eternity, Richie stood still, staring blankly at the phone even as its screen went blank again. Then, of all a sudden, Richie’s face broke at the same time that he took in a large gulp of air, when his lungs started working like a drowning man that had broken through the surface.

“What the fuck?” Richie said, voice trembling, “What the _fuck?_ Why the hell is his phone— what the fuck is going on?”

His eyes met Eddie’s in that moment, and Eddie learnt that a second was all he needed to see the inner turmoil bubbling to the surface. It was raw panic, lips quivering with his brows drawn together, the line bracketing his mouth became as prominent as the worry lines that dug across his forehead.

In a flash, without caring about his state of nakedness, Richie dashed out of the toilet. Eddie rushed to follow Richie into their room, where Richie was punching his screen relentlessly before bringing it to his ear.

The room was painfully silent, with tension so palpable it was suffocating them both.

“Bill?” Richie barked, then winced at the harshness in his voice, “Yeah, Bill?” he repeated again, softer but with urgency, “Listen, yeah. Yeah. Have you seen Eddie?”

Richie glanced at Eddie before he pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. “What about— have you _heard_ from Eddie today? No. No— Bill, that’s not. Look, Eddie—” Richie took a deep breath, pacing around the room in agitated strides. Words were shooting out of his mouth like an assault. “Eddie’s not here. And his phone, I just.. I just found his phone in the house, Bill. That’s not— Eddie doesn’t leave the house without his phone. No, I don’t know. No, I don’t know! God _fucking_ damn it, Bill! I don’t know, okay? I don’t know! That’s why I’m calling you, alright?”

Richie’s voice broke on the last sentence, and it shattered Eddie’s heart.

“We had an argument last night, and this morning he just vanished. He just— I don’t know where he is, Bill. And if you don’t know either, then I..” Richie said tightly, clenching a fist together. He listened intently for a minute before closing his eyes again, taking several deep breaths and taking a longer time to exhale. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. It’s just— I’m so worried, Bill. Where would he go? The sky looks like it’s splitting its ass cheeks, about to fucking _shit_ at any moment and I’m so _worried—_ ”

Richie stopped pacing, fingers wrapping around the phone mercilessly. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. You’re— yeah. I can do that. Thanks a lot, Bill.” Richie said, hanging up. Once the call ended, Richie threw his head back, letting his shoulders slump as he took a shuddering breath.

Then, after he composed himself, Richie punched his phone screen again, bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Bev? Have you heard from Eddie today?”

Rainy days were usually Eddie’s favourite type of day. He loved the cool it brought, the shade it provided, the lovely tip-tap against the windows. He loved to imagine droplets racing each other down the window pane as a child, always rooting for one and then switching his support out of guilt for the losing party.

Today, Eddie loathed the rain.

Richie sat on the sofa with his head between his legs with his wrists resting limply on the edge of his knees. His dishevelled hair was still damp at the roots, clumping together before they broke away like frayed ends. In one hand, Richie held onto his phone, as if it would light up at any moment with good news on the other end. In the other hand, his spectacles balanced like a seesaw on his index finger.

Richie hadn’t spoken a word since his call to Mike ended an hour ago. He hadn’t lifted his head, either.

Worry clotted Eddie’s chest as he nuzzled Richie’s bare ankles, begging for Richie to spare him even a morsel of attention— divided or not. Richie ruffled the soft hairs on Eddie’s head once, and then retreated into his own head, surrounding himself with dark thoughts on where his boyfriend could’ve been.

As lightning split the sky in the window, the harsh light illuminated Richie’s silhouette, a defeated man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, all alone in the spacious house he couldn’t call a home. As the rain started coming down like hail, it echoed off the walls of their house, filling the silence with taunts they could not understand. If he could, Eddie could imagine their mean-spirited laughter bouncing through the house. _You found the love of your life,_ they would chant with subtle asperity, _And you let him slip away again._

And when the lightning disappeared, hiding behind the clouds once again, Richie, too, disappeared into the darkness of their place.

Today, Eddie loathed the rain.

Eddie jumped up the sofa before wiggling his way onto Richie’s lap, startling him out of his thoughts. He straightened his back, looking down at Eddie with a miniscule frown.

“Hey, lil’ bud,” Richie said dejectedly, putting his phone aside to cup Eddie’s head. Eddie leaned into the touch, staring back at Richie quietly. Richie sighed, sliding his glasses back on to get a better look at Eddie. His thumb drew circles into Eddie’s cheek, though it wasn’t the same tenderness that Eddie felt as a human, it still melted the ice gripping his heart.

“Hey there, lil’ bud.” Richie said again, still absent, “I’m sorry. I— Eds is gone, and I don’t know where he is.”

Richie was hurting, falling apart openly, and Eddie had no way to tell Richie that the person he was looking for was right in front of him. It hurt him to be the only one who could put Richie’s worries at ease, but not be able to do it.

The last time that Richie looked like this, Eddie’s vision was blurred with blood, with tears and his fading consciousness.

A wounded sound escaped Eddie. Richie forced himself to smile, a small upward tug on the corner of his pale lips.

“Yeah, bud. I know, I know. I don’t know if Eddie is— if he’s just angry at me and decided to camp somewhere else tonight, but.. I—” Richie’s voice became strangled. He stifled a sob, closing his eyes with all the energy he could muster. When he opened them again, lightning struck behind Eddie, allowing him to see how wet his eyes were, although his face remained dry. “I just want him to come home, lil’ bud. This place isn’t a home when he isn’t here, and I’m worried that he’s out there in the rain. And that he might be cold, and shivering, and—”

“Meow.” Eddie said, clapping his tiny hand over Richie’s thumb. Richie nodded weakly.

“I know, lil’ bud.” Richie said quietly, “I know.”

Eddie didn’t think that Richie did.

Sleep didn’t come easy to either of them in the thundering morning, but if there was one thing about mentally exhausting yourself, it was that when sleep came, it usually came with a vengeance it didn’t have a right to have.

But just before Eddie let sleep wash over him, he let his paw ghost over Richie’s eyelids, and the only wish he held so desperately in his heart was to be back in his human body again, to hold Richie in his arms and to plant a kiss in the nest of hair he’d grown so used to smelling in the middle of the night.

Eddie felt it before he saw it, or heard it. Call it a cat’s intuition, but it was more likely Eddie’s intuition.

Richie’s body was relaxed under his.

Eddie’s eyes flew open as he pulled away, stradling Richie on the sofa. The sudden movement caused Richie to stir, first with a soft groan and then with eyes that were forcing itself to open against the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window.

As he scanned the room, Eddie realised two things. The first thing he realised was that he had _human thighs_ that could straddle Richie. The second thing he realised was that the room that had once been spacious, and _then_ became ridiculously oversized and furnished with things that belonged in Alice in Wonderland, was now back to being spacious. Just spacious. With normal-sized things that didn’t necessarily belong in Alice in Wonderland.

One plus one equals two, and Eddie was so happy he could’ve cried tears of joy if it wasn’t for Richie freezing under him. Richie blinked once, then again, as if he couldn’t trust his eyes.

The third time that Richie blinked, he threw himself on Eddie, causing the both of them to fall backwards with Eddie on the bottom this time.

“Eddie!” Richie exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Eddie, “Eds! You’re back. Jesus, Eds! I was so fucking worried. Where were you? When did you get back? Where—” Richie paused mid-sentence, lifting himself up to give Eddie a once-over. His voice steadied as he said. “Why are you naked?”

Good question. Eddie never realised it until Richie pointed it out. He looked down at himself and yup, there it was. Limp but proud.

Then Eddie remembered that his pyjamas and underwear were probably still on the guest bed upstairs, which would explain his nakedness. Not that Richie knew it, but still.

“You’re naked too.” Eddie pointed out.

“Yeah, well, this fucking birthday suit is a product of me worrying my fucking ass over you—” Richie paused again. Eddie could see the metaphorical cogs turning in his head. “That wasn’t a question.” Richie said.

“What wasn’t a question?”

“You said that I’m naked,” Richie said, “You didn’t ask _why_ I’m naked. You— you’re not even surprised.”

Eddie blinked. Richie looked down at Eddie again, more critically this time. He cocked his head to the side as he narrowed his eyes in thought, looking around the room quickly. “And my lil’ buddy seems to have disappeared, too.”

“Your lil’ buddy is _very much_ still here, Richie.”

“Come on, Eds. That was a fucking grade school level comeback, alright? What is this, amateur hour?”

Eddie flipped him off, rolling his eyes. He was wiggling under Richie, trying to get into a more comfortable position when Richie gasped violently, eyes widening, scandalised.

“It was you!” Richie shouted, wagging an accusing finger in Eddie’s face. Eddie swatted his hand away, thoroughly unamused.

“What?” Eddie said flatly.

“It was _you!_ ” Richie said again with conviction rolling into his voice. “You’re him! You’re lil’ bud!”

Eddie sighed, “Yes, Richie. I was lil’ bud.”

“Jesus christ, Eds. You were a fucking cat. Holy fuck.”

“Are we done stating the obvious—”

“And you were _naked._ ”

“I turned into a fucking cat and that’s all you care about?” Eddie said in disbelief, “That I was naked?”

“I’m a simple man, Eds.” Richie explained, touching a hand to his chest, “My Eddie is naked? Fuck yeah. That tops everything else. Sort out your fucking priorities, man.”

“Fucking hell.”

“You were a cat, and you were _naked_ the entire day and you were—” Richie’s voice cut off abruptly. Colour drained out of his face as his eyes widened again, body stiffening in discomfort as realisation dawned on him. Eddie furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Richie?”

“What the fuck, Eddie. You were lil’ bud,” Richie said, “And I—”

Richie didn’t have to complete his sentence for Eddie to know what he meant. He was lil’ bud, and Richie bared his soul to him. It was an unintentional deception, but it was deception all the same. Richie didn’t know the stray brown-spotted cat he was talking to was actually his boyfriend, Eddie. And without that knowledge, he spilled all his thoughts, things he would never have admitted to Eddie otherwise.

Richie averted his stare, looking at the cushion cover next to Eddie’s arm. Eddie’s expression softened. He pressed his palm against Richie’s jaw, pleading for Richie to look at him. Richie did, although he did so with great reluctance.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie began, sincerely sorry for intruding into a conversation he wasn’t supposed to be present for. Richie’s guarded eyes began to lose its wariness. “I know you didn’t mean to tell me the things that you did, so I’m sorry. But, honestly? I’m glad that it happened.”

Richie opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie put a finger to his parted lips, shaking his head.

“Let me finish, Richie. First of all, I wanna say that I’m sorry for losing my temper at you over the shoes. I had a bad day, but that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry for yelling at you, I shouldn’t have.”

“Eddie—”

“And I’m sorry that I worried you so much, Richie. I wish that I could tell you that I never left the house, but.. you know, being a cat and all, communication was severely restricted.”

Richie chuckled weakly, letting his head fall against the crook of Eddie’s neck.

“And.. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about those things.” Eddie finished, “I know I’m not the most approachable person. And I know that my words can be sharp, sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Watch it, asshole. Don’t interrupt my apology, damn it.”

“Yeah, Eddie. What kind of fucking apology is that, cursing the person you’re apologising to, huh?”

Eddie glared at Richie for a long second before he sighed again, exasperated. “I’m being serious, Richie.”

“I know, I know.” Richie said, rolling off Eddie and squeezing into the space between Eddie and the cushions. He stared up at the ceiling before heaving a sigh of his own, head lolling around his neck to face Eddie. “I know, Eds.”

“Then why didn’t—”

“I didn’t want to talk to you about them because.. you’ve just gotten out of a long marriage, Eddie. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to do anything you didn’t want to. I didn’t want you to think that I’d stay only if you made a commitment to me that was recognised by the law. I just wanted you— I wanted us to go at our own pace.” Richie said softly, intertwining his fingers with Eddie’s. He brought their clasped hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into the skin of each knuckle, slightly rough and run over with veins. Eddie felt the jackhammer beat of his heart, felt the heat of the blood rushing through his veins.

He would never get used to the sight of lying somewhere with Richie, of Richie kissing his hand like it was made of gold. No, not even gold. Made of something that nothing in the universe could put a price on.

“After everything that we’ve been through, we deserve that, don’t you think?” Richie said, “We deserve to live the life we want to live.”

Eddie nodded, not trusting his voice. There was a lump in his throat, and his eyes stung with unshed tears, but none of it was sad. It was unadulterated happiness, something he found again after 27 years.

He remembered gripping onto someone as the world was fading in and out of his vision, the only thing he remembered that tethered him to the world. He remembered someone’s warm hand clasped over his own cold ones as the hospital lights collided into a single picture, as a face peered down with red-rimmed eyes behind coke bottle glasses. He remembered watching the boy he loved drive off as the sun set in the distance, with pink and purple melting together and a head looking out of the window, the sunlight reflecting off the rim of his glasses with a final twinkle.

And all of those moments converged in this one, lying next to Richie with their hands held tightly in each other’s.

Eddie shuffled closer, resting his head over Richie’s chest, right above his heart. The constant _lub-dub lub-dub_ that became his favourite sound to fall asleep to on the nights that he was blessed enough to have Richie in bed with him, right before they succumbed to sleep together.

“I don’t care about the fucking house.” Eddie said after he mulled over their conversation, “I don’t care what type of house we live in.”

Richie frowned in confusion. “You don’t?”

“Yeah, fuck it, Richie. Where you go, where you are— that’s home for me.”

He remembered thinking to himself that that was the last time he’d ever see Richie. He would forget about him, just like Bev forgot about them when she moved away, just like Ben forgot about them when he moved away.

And here they were, after all these years.

Richie was right. They deserved to live the life that they wanted to live.

But hadn’t Eddie been, already? It was all _them:_ Richie’s shoes tracking dirt through the house with Eddie’s cleaning supplies in the cabinet near the toilet; Richie’s ashtray in the kitchen with the window kept open as he smoked; the alcohol they kept in the house, something reserved for special nights and occasions.

This was the life he wanted to live— one with Richie Tozier.

Eddie kissed Richie’s lightly dusted chest, letting his eyelids fall shut in that perfect moment. They would need to have a long talk about everything else later, but for now.. they would go at their own pace.

“Aw, fuck shit, Eds. I gotta call Bill and Bev and Mike and Stan to tell them that you’re here. Wait— shit, should I tell them that you _were naked all day?_ ”

“Richie, literally what the fuck.”

“Okay, fine. But we’re definitely telling them that you turned into a cat.”

**Author's Note:**

> Been itching to get this idea out since a few months ago and I'm so happy to just finish it.. As always, thank you S for reading this through for me even when you're running 12 hour work days and when you didn't even read the book or watch the movie.. :""^)


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